Monday, August 29, 2011

Mean Irene

Our weekend was spent hunkering down hiding from Irene as she came through town.  Dan and I took both of our mattresses and put them in the living room to build a fort where we could play board games and cuddle with the animals while we watched the storm around us and ate peanut butter sandwiches.
Charging my phone in the car while without power.

We were pretty lucky and just had a small leak and some branches and a mail box (not ours) in our yard to pick up the next day, while most of our neighbors lost trees and shingles.  The story at the beach wasn't the same...

Our poor trailer that made it through about 35 years of hurricanes-many much worse than Irene-actually made it through this one as well...until they turned the power back on and the refrigerator caught fire.  

My absolute favorite place in the world.  The place we crammed 10 aunts, uncles and cousins in every summer.  My grandmas favorite place that still has her character to it.  The place where my grandfather died.  

Ok, pity party over.  

Mostly just the kitchen is ruined (of course that totals a trailer), but we were able to get momentos like pictures out, which means so much more than the actual building.  When I first heard about the fire I pictured all of our memories burned down-the old menu with my grandmas handwriting on it, her clothes in the back bedroom, our photo albums, the collage in the hall...  But it turns out most of that was salvageable, so there's that.  I just hope now that when we rebuild we can preserve the old, homey feel of the trailer we love.  I love that our TVs have wood panels and turn dials and our toy bucket is still in the back closet with all of our old toys and the books I read over and over as a child are still under the TV in the living room.  I want the new trailer to be like that too.  For now, I'm counting my blessings that I grew up with such a wonderful place AND that we can rebuild.    

Friday, August 12, 2011

That time I was a witch with a b...

I haven't posted in a hot minute because thesis the never ending paper has consumed my life and feels like it will never end.  Side note:  I did get a wedding dress!! And as soon as my defense day has come and finally gone I'll get back to posting regularly, pinky swear.  But today is about what thesis has turned me in to.  So, a little story...

Yesterday Dan had to take my car because the window on his was getting fixed, leaving me home alone all day with no way to go anywhere.  I was fine with that because I was just going to be writing all day anyway, but I said I did want to take the car to get coffee before he left because we're seriously lacking on groceries right now (another consequence of thesis) and I needed a coffee treat something bad.  He said he'd wake me up before he got in the shower, giving time to get said coffee.

He forgot.  

I woke up about 30 minutes after he left (about 7:00--in the summer) to find no way to get the coffee I felt I so desperately needed.  

Ok, I'll have some coke. 

He had finished it after I went to bed. 

No caffeine?!?! 

OK, leftover pizza.

He ate my half (we don't get the same toppings).

It was at this point I lost my cool.  He hadn't done anything wrong, but the combination of the morning and the day I had to follow while Linus rolled around moaning at my feel for attention and Lucy yipped at me begging to play with her got to me, and I left him a voicemail that went something like this: 

"I don't have any coffee and you drank all the coke and there's no food here because you ate my half of the pizza and left your disgusting half and I can't leave the house to fix any of this and now I have to write all day and I can't believe you did this!!" {Insert big huff} (all in one breath like it was one long word)


After that I took a deep breath, put on my big girl pants and had a slice of ice cream cake for breakfast.

We laughed about it later that night.  Apparently Dan had already laughed at me when he listened to the voicemail, realizing I was frustrated and yelling at your computer just isn't the same as yelling at a person.  His voicemail was the only satisfying thing to take my frustration out on that was available to me I guess.  Good thing he knew me well enough he could picture how it went down and found it absolutely amusing.  


This morning I woke up to a grande nonfat white chocolate mocha from Starbucks on my nightstand.  

He so didn't deserve that voicemail.  Next time I will just yell at the computer the way my mom taught me to yell at furniture when I hurt myself on it when I was little (bad desk!!).  
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